


Prison Clause: Relocation

by fleurlb



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 16:26:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7648192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleurlb/pseuds/fleurlb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU, takes place after Season 6. In this installment, Tara takes the first steps into her new life, with the help of a dear old friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prison Clause: Relocation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cemmia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cemmia/gifts).



> Big thanks to Cemmia for reminding me that I had this series sitting in my head, waiting to come out.

As her car crosses the border into Oregon, Tara feels a childish thrill, like a teenager breaking curfew. She glances in the rearview mirror, but the boys are asleep, so the celebration is hers alone. It's been a long four months since Jax surrendered, and she's looking forward to the fresh start.

Tara marvels at how all the pieces magically assembled themselves and slotted into place. She doesn't believe in divine intervention and her karma is so muddy after years with Jax, she can only cast her lot with grace and pure, dumb luck. 

Margaret, administrator at St. Thomas and future patron saint of girls who get tangled up with the wrong guys, reached out to the surgical team at Providence, to ask if they knew of any practice that needed a pediatrician. As much as Tara longed to return to surgery, she knew the hours and unpredictability wouldn't suit her new life as a single mother. As luck would have it, one of the doctors had an old medical school friend whose father was pressuring her to come back to her hometown of Bandon, Oregon. The father wanted to retire in a few years and was hoping to sell the business to his daughter, who was not as keen to leave a lucrative practice in San Francisco.

So the contact had been made, and Tara had hit it off with the old doctor, whose twinkly eyes and beard were all Santa Claus but lanky runner's build was all greyhound. Bandon turned out to be a beautiful small town on the Pacific coast, and its wealth had been built on timber, fishing, and cranberries. If Tara squinted, she could nearly pretend Bandon was Charming, minus the club, plus the ocean.

Bandon's also a good fit because it's only two hours from Crescent City, where Jax is settling in as Inmate 970730 at Pelican Bay Penitentiary. He still has another few weeks before he can receive visitors. Tara isn't sure that she'll take the boys every weekend, but she is serious about maintaining their relationship with their father.

She's equally serious that her boys will have no relationship with their grandmother. Gemma made that wish a reality when she tried to run Tara over, right on Main Street. Only Unser's yanking the wheel back had kept Gemma out of prison, but the entire incident, witnessed by most of the club, put Gemma outside their sympathy and protection. She still doesn't know if the word ever filtered back to Jax, but she figures she might find out when they visit him in a few weeks.

Tara rubs the heel of her palm into her eye and yawns. She's nearly lost track of the length of time that she's spent on the road. She feels a pang of regret at not breaking up the trip with an overnight stop, but it somehow felt important that their first night away from Charming be in their new home. Besides, she remembers her family's vacations to San Diego to visit her aunt, and the distance is roughly the same, without the head-wrecking complication of L.A. traffic.

She swears to herself that this is the last time she's making the drive in one shot, then laughs. She doesn't have to go back to Charming, ever again. The thought of a Charming-less existence keeps a smile on her face as she finishes the last few hours of driving.

The boys wake up about an hour from Bandon, and it's a struggle to keep them from complaining about still being stuck in the car. She's sure they're hungry, but she doesn't want to make another stop. 

“Hey, boys, I want to be there as much as you do, but whining about it won't make the car go any faster. You know what will?”

“Shouting?” ventures Abel.

“No, shouting makes the car go slower,” says Tara, trying to keep the grin off her face. “Singing. Let's sing some songs.”

And so they do, until her voice is hoarse and she wishes bodily harm to Old MacDonald and every one of his damn animals. Passing the sign welcoming them into Bandon, population 3057, Tara breathes a sigh of relief. This is it: their escape is complete.

Tara glances at scribbled directions on a tattered piece of paper, then navigates the twisted path to their new home. The realtor had described the house as contemporary/custom style, which Tara had come to suspect was code for ugly, but she'd been pleasantly surprised. The house is tall and broad, with large windows, a wrap-around porch, and a stained glass mosaic window that casts beautiful colored light throughout the great room. Inside, the house has an open plan, a stone fireplace, hardwood floors, and crisp white walls that make Tara feel like the place is truly a clean start.

With a final flourish, Tara makes the last turn and drives down the their new street while Abel cranes his neck to see which house is theirs. It's easy to spot, the only blue house on a street of brown houses. Plus, one of Unser's moving trucks is still parked in the driveway. The guys from the club insisted on helping her move, and she graciously tried to accept their generosity, although her face burned when she made no cuts a condition of their service. Chibs and Bobby had exchanged a wordless look before Chibs put his hands up and said that it wasn't even issue, they'd do whatever she wanted.

Abel's seatbelt is off and his door is open nearly before Tara stops the car at the curb in front of the house. He's a blond blur, racing past her and up to the front door as she walks around the car to free Thomas from his baby seat. Thomas shouts happily at his freedom and squirms in Tara's arms as she carries him up toward the truck.

Rat and Tig sit in the back of the truck, drinking beer. Tig stands up, brushes his pants off, then jumps down and greets Tara warmly before passing over her key. He looks tired and older without his cut.

“Are you seriously done already?” asks Tara.

“We are. That's the benefit of having 20 guys instead of just two or three,” says Tig. 

“Thank you so much. Where are the rest of the guys?” 

“Gone to a party at Rogue River,” says Rat, who is now standing awkwardly next to Tig, like a hyper child who wants his parent to stop chatting and take him to the playground already.

Tara waves to them. “Don't let us keep you! Enjoy the party and please thank the rest of the guys for us.”

Tig presses a light kiss into her cheek then tousles Thomas's hair. “Will do, doll. Look after yourself and let us know if you need anything. Anything at all.”

Tara and Thomas watch the truck pull out of the driveway, Thomas waving happily. Tara takes a deep breath, smelling and tasting the salt from the nearby ocean. She knows that from the window of her new room, she'll be able to see the water. She takes Thomas into their new house.

The guys have done a great job with the moving, making good choices about where the furniture should go and following all her instructions on where to put the boxes. Each room has a bright yellow box, full of all the essentials for that room, that's been left in an easily accessible location. Someone has set up the TV and DVD player, something that she knows she'll be thankful for in the next few hours.

She calls to Abel, and he dutifully follows her up to the room that he'll be sharing with Thomas. It's a big room with an adjoining bathroom that connects to her own room, which is much smaller but has a better view. It's important to her that the boys are close to each other and to her. The guys have set up both Abel's bed and the crib and have made sure that any box labelled “Toys” is easily accessible. She thinks to herself that if the club ever needs another legitimate enterprise, they could always open a moving business.

She puts Thomas down on the floor and finds a toy for him to play with while she and Abel open the yellow box and unpack the boys' pajamas, clothes for the next few days, favorite toys, beloved books, and diaper supplies for Thomas. 

“OK, boys, your room is at least habitable for the next few days. We can unpack everything else tomorrow,” she says more cheerfully than she feels. The day of driving is starting to exact its toll, and she finds that all she wants is to curl up and sleep. But she knows the boys will be hungry soon, so she needs to tackle the kitchen. She reminds herself to just take baby steps and handle one task at a time.

“Can we watch a movie?” asks Abel, unknowingly throwing her a lifeline that she's going to grab even though she's promised herself that she's going to set up routines and restrict their screen time after they're settled in.

“Great idea, let's go downstairs and pick one out.”

Ten minutes later, the kids are set up in the television room, watching “Toy Story” while she unpacks the essentials box in the kitchen. It's another fifteen minutes before she realizes that her essentials box doesn't contain any food, and Mother Hubbard's cupboards and fridge are both absolutely bare. 

She knows that if she tries to buckle the boys back into their car seats, she'll have a mutiny on her hands, but she's struggling for ideas of how to solve this problem. Her car keys are in her hands and she's just about to start a riot with the boys when the doorbell rings.

“Saved by the bell. Maybe it's the welcome wagon,” she thinks as she drops her keys on the counter and heads back to the front door. She glances out the window but doesn't recognize the pick-up truck that's sitting in the driveway. She feels foolish and frightened as she creeps up the front door and tries to peer out the small porthole without having the visitor see her.

Chibs is leaning against the supporting post of the front porch, a pizza box in his hands and a few plastic shopping bags dangling awkwardly from his fingers. Tara opens the door, surprise and relief evident on her face.

“Evening, hope you don't mind, but I thought I'd drop off some provisions. The hardest part of moving is not having the stocked kitchen that you're used to.”

“You're a saint.” Tara tries to keep her smile to something non-frightening, but she's afraid this simple act of kindness might send her around the bend. She takes the pizza box and steps aside to let him into the house.

“Aye, a saint and my reward will be great in heaven,” he replies with a half-grin and weary eyes. 

“Will you stay for dinner?” she asks as she puts the pizza on the counter and moves to unpack the bags. Apples. Bananas. Bread. Milk. Mac and cheese. Lunch meat. Peanut butter. Jelly. Frozen chicken. Microwave meals. He's bought enough food for a few days and has managed to hit all the food groups.

“No, I don't want to intrude on your first night.”

“It's not intruding-”

“Please, Uncle Chibs? Please stay?” pleads Abel, who'd snuck into the room so quietly, she didn't even realize he was there. 

Chibs grins and tousles the boy's hair. “Well, when you give me an engraved invitation like that? How can I possibly say no?”

Dinner passes in a blur of easy companionship, and then Chibs proves that he's much more than a saint by reading Abel bedtime stories and supervising his toothbrushing while Tara gets Thomas to fall asleep in their new room. Abel insists so loudly that Chibs be the one to tuck him in that Tara nearly feels a little hurt.

“You've done a lot today,” says Chibs. “Go downstairs and put your feet up. Let me get this.” 

So Tara goes downstairs and quickly tidies the kitchen, thinking she'll be done before Chibs manages to get downstairs, but he has one more surprise left in him. She just closing up the dishwasher when he walks in and grins.

“I don't know what it is about bedtime that turns every kid into a thirsty philosopher who needs one more hug,” he says with a grin as he leans against the counter. 

Tara laughs. “I'm surprised to see you down here so soon. Bedtime is usually a much longer ordeal. Thank you so much. You're not just a saint, you're a superhero!”

“Ach, lad was asleep nearly before his head hit the pillow,” says Chibs, waving away her words.

Tara opens a cupboard and pulls out a bottle of Talisker. “Interest you in a quick whisky? Or...I suppose you have a party to join in Rogue River.” 

“You know parties in Rogue River. They last a long time, so I have plenty of time.” He settles himself down at the kitchen table while she grabs a couple of tumblers and pours a generous measure into each.

“When do you start the new job, Dr. Knowles?”

She turns and holds up one finger, wagging it slightly as she mock-scolds him. “Dr. Teller starts on Wednesday.”

Chibs raises his eyebrows, and she can't tell if the expression is surprise or judgement. “Dr. Teller, eh?”

Tara sits down and slides a glass across to him. “The irony of taking the name of the husband who is incarcerated and likely will divorce me is not lost on me. But I didn't want a lot of question with the boys having a different last name, and Googling 'Dr Tara Knowles' produced a few hits that would probably not put prospective patients at ease.”

Chibs raises a glass and takes a sniff of the peppery, smoky, peaty liquid, then holds up his glass. “Smells like home. To new homes and new beginnings.”

“With old friends, always with old friends,” says Tara with a smile, hoping she can convey without words how much his kindness has meant to her. She touches her glass to his, then takes a sip, knowing she could not have this new beginning without everything that Jax and the club has done for her. She hopes they all know how truly grateful she is.

 

/fin


End file.
